Page 43 of Into the Dark, We Go
"So, are we alldyingto go check out that cemetery?" June asked, seemingly unbothered by the situation.
"Fucking Christ, Junie, don’t." Mitchell winced as if he had a headache.
"Okay, okay, sorry, I’m just eager toburymyself in some research."
"Oh lord." Mitchell rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else, instead giving his full attention to the chicken sandwich in front of him.
Her dad jokes weren’t that funny, but I still fought a smile.
The cemetery was moreexpansive than we anticipated, with weathered headstones sprawling from the road’s end up the hill’s slope. A separate, "witchy" section was cordoned off, requiring a $5 admission fee per person. We paid up.
"The largest witch cemetery after Salem!" The grizzled caretaker, in his late sixties, sported a wild shock of white hair and a matching bushy beard. He waved for us to follow him on an unsolicited tour. His worn denim overalls were stained with dirt and what appeared to be engine grease. A faded name tag read "Gideon." He had been tinkering with a rusty old lawnmower before we entered, but seemed to have forgotten all about it now he had a chance to show off the attractions. He reminded me of a theatrical producer, revealing a circus of the dead.
He guided us through the area, past faded gravestones scattered with offerings: coins, bracelets, and other trinkets.
June nudged me with her elbow. "Told you."
When we asked about the "witchy" graves, Gideon tilted his head, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Well, now, that’s just an old tale. Ain’t nobody knows if there’s real witches buried around these parts or not. If you ask me, it’s just a bunch of hooey. Folks around here spin stories like that to keep kids from wanderin’ off at night."
"Why do they leave them here, then?" June pointed to the nearest grave, adorned with a plastic bracelet, as if she hadn’t heard the story before.
Gideon’s expression remained apathetic, but a hint of routine enthusiasm overcame his old bones. "Some folks believe leavin’ somethin’ like that’ll persuade the spirits to grant ‘em a wish or two."
June widened her eyes, encouraging him to continue. "What do you do with them after?"
The caretaker said this as if it were obvious, "I clean them out once a week or so, when I’m makin’ my rounds."
"Is there ever anything valuable?" Mitchell asked.
Gideon rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully. "Ain’t much else that comes to mind. But I do remember findin’ a weddin’ band here one time. Guessin’ it was a mighty important wish they was makin’."
"Cool." June’s interest waned as she began to decipher the faded letters on the gravestones. The caretaker began to prune dead flowers.
Mitchell picked up the conversation. "So, what’s the story with this graveyard? Are these all supposed witches?"
Gideon knelt beside a nearby grave. "Don’t know about every single one, but I reckon some of them was laid to rest here after that Black Water massacre."
June’s head snapped up. "The what?"
Gideon set his tools down. "Do you know about the witch coven that controlled the city? They were havin’ their gatherin’s, doin’ their devil worship and whatnot. But their leader, he got a might too full of himself. Thought he was above the law, he did."
"Wasn’t it a woman?" I asked.
The caretaker playfully wagged his finger. "No, it was a fella. And ain’t that just the truth, men always stirrin’ up trouble, one way or another." He addressed me and June with a sly grin.
June ignored the gesture and pressed on. "So, what happened?"
"They tried to take down the old man, but he had some tricks up his sleeve and some folks loyal to him. They went at each other, and a lot of ‘em ended up dead. The rest high-tailed it outta here, didn’t want no part of the trouble. That’s what the story says, anyway."
"What about the main guy, the leader?" June asked.
"He was a preacher from Virginia who came to spread his weird ideas. He preached his way right into the woods, he did."
"Is he buried here?" Nick chimed in, gesturing at the cemetery.
"Naw, his body’s never been found. Likely story is his followers, what was left of them anyway, buried him out in the woods somewhere. And that book of magic, it’s gone missin’ too."
We stood there, a little shaken. Hearing the tale in a museum was one thing, but having it confirmed was another. It turned out the story was true: the town had really witnessed a bloody witchcraft massacre.
